Issues: Yours, Mines, Ours
by weonlyhavetoday
Summary: His issues included his cheating wife, the relentless media, the on-onging divorce, and his inability to let go of the person he once chose to spend the rest of his life with. She didn't care about his world and his problems, until one day when he became her biggest issue.
1. Chapter 1: Hollywood Now

**AN: Hey guys! This is my very first story for fan fiction and I hope that you'll enjoy it. Please review if you have time. I would appreciate feedback and constructive criticism to improve my writing.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own or am I in anyway affiliated with High School Musical and any other aspects of the movie franchise. I also do not own or am I in anyway or shape affiliated with any of the companies that I mention in this story. I do not own any of the characters from the movie franchise and all rights belong to the rightful owners.**

** Issues: Yours, Mine, Ours **

Chapter 1: Hollywood Now

My frustration grew as I jammed the third key into the key hole to unlock my apartment door. Having seven identical keys in one ring is surely not one of my brightest ideas. I pleaded that the fifth key would do the trick and that the universe, who I assume felt a little sorry for me at that point would finally allow me to unlock this godforsaken door.

My face broke out into a ridiculous grin as I heard a "Click". I sighed in relief and entered my small, but cozy apartment. I'm in the midst of moving from New York all the way here in LA. I thought a switch of coasts would be a decent combination with me starting my residency at Righton Hospital.

As I took of my shoes and left them by the door, my smile was once again replaced with an expression of aggravation as I stared at the boxes that waited to be unpacked. I threw my head back in annoyance and made my way to my almost bare kitchen that has been painted a light blue. I grabbed a water bottle and the scissors to conquer the boxes that sat in my living room just mocking me.

I turned the newly installed TV on and made my way to the first box of many. I opened a medium sized one labeled "Miscellaneous". As I sorted through photo albums and my old college textbooks the voice of the host of a celebrity gossip show titled "Hollywood Now" came out of my TV speakers. It wasn't my type of show, but I figured that if I changed the channel to a show that I actually cared for, I would only lose the focus I barely have and leave all these boxes unattended.

"Breaking hollywood news! Sources close to Farah Bolton has confirmed that the on-going divorce is looking like its not about to end anytime soon. Apparently, Troy refuses to sign the papers, claiming that he is still very much in love with his wife, despite her leaving him for model Paul Hills. The source goes on to say that Troy is desperate and is willing to turn the other cheek. He wants Farrah to come home and work out their marriage. Troy is open to forgiving and forgetting about Farrah's affair with Paul, who she dated before meeting Troy. The pair has been married for three years and Farrah has gone on record and stated that fourteen months into their marriage, she rekindled the romance she once had with Paul, thus starting the affair of the decade."

The sound of Gail Bates' voice was overpowered by my ring tone that was reserved for my blonde best friend. She and I have known each other since we were in the fourth grade when my mom's company had her transferred to Albuquerque. However, the two of us got separated when I was accepted to Columbia in New York and Sharpay chose to attend UCLA. We kept in touch, we Skyped every other day and flew back home to spend the holidays together with our families.

"Hey Pay"

"Gabriella Louisa Anne Montez where the hell are you?"

"Unpacking at my place...Where did you expect me to be?"

"Here at Bloomingdales helping me set up and design my window. OMG Gabs, I can't believe that they have chosen to feature my designs for their May display. This is going to hopefully give me my own name here in LA."

Sharpay's parents were influential in LA and other parts of the country, heck in other parts of the world. Her father is a talent manager, while her mom the head of a fashion house which manages and designs for six high end brands. With that was also the family business which are a chain of country clubs in New York, Los Angeles, Boston, Chicago, Albuquerque, and a new one in Miami. Needless to say Sharpay already had a name, one that she was aware of, but refuses to acknowledge. She was a member of the Evans family, thus being already of power and money. She was grateful for all the she had, but she wanted to be known even if her father's last name was no longer attached to hers. She wanted to be Sharpay Evans, a successful and determined fashion designer. She didn't need nor want her mother to make calls for her in the fashion world nor did she want her father advertising her label to his A-list clients. She wanted to be independent and to be known as her. She didn't want shortcuts, which is just one of the many reasons why I love her to death.

"Well you better start believing since you talk about it with everyone you meet, that I'm pretty sure penguins in Antarctica believe it."

"Haha very funny. Anyway get your cute ass here and help. I could use your imput."

"What can I do? I can't even tell the difference between chiffon and silk."

"You my dear can tell me what a great job I'm doing."

"That sounds like a dream," I replied with a great amount of sarcasm.

"Anyway, they will unveil the window in three days and I need help making the final decisions. I can't decide between Pop Pink or Poppy Pink for the color of the chair that one of the mannequins will be sitting on."

"Why don't you call Ryan to help you. He might actually be able to differenciate between Poppy and Pop Pink."

"I can't. Ry is meeting up with this new composer."

Ryan Evans is Sharpay's twin, born exactly 3 minutes and 54 seconds after Shrapay. She made sure that no one, especially Ryan forget about the small and almost insignificant time difference. This was all so that she could go ahead and play the older child card. Ryan worked for a record label. He was the head of the film department, which handled soundtracks of movies.

"Well then ask Mandy or Kate or Pam."

"Fine! I'll ask them, but I will always remember this day as the one that my bestest friend betrayed me for ugly brown boxes" she replied in her overly dramatic voice.

"I'll be there in an hour," I sighed.

"Yay! Love you sweetie pie. Toodles!"

"Later"

As I placed my phone on top of one of the boxes I have yet to unpack, I noticed that Gail Bates was still on her rant about the Bolton split.

"It's quite a mess isn't it. Troy if your watching this, remember that there are billions of other fishes in the sea."

I rolled my eyes at the obsession over the lives of people that they didn't even know. Why should I invest my time on the problems of Troy and Fray or Farrah or whatever her name is, when I bet that they don't give a shit about the crap in my life.

I'm not a pessimist, I'm just being realistc. If Farrah wanted to leave her husband and screw some other guy then that's her issue and if Troy wants to beg for a woman who stabbed him in the back then that's his deal. I forgot in the equation what Hallywood Now, Star Magazine or other tabloids has to do with their marrige. The truth to it is that whatever they decide to do with their lives they can as it is their business, not the media's, and certainly not mine.


	2. Chapter 2: Just Some

**Author's Notes: Hey Everyone! I would just like to thank everyone who read the first chapter. It really means a lot that you guys would take your time to read or even just glance at what I wrote.**

** I would also like to give special thanks to Chloe and Beuty6 for your kind reviews, to A1294 for following the story, and to Wildcats2016 for messaging me about the first chapter. I really and sincerely appreciate it. **

**I hope you guys enjoy the second chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I in anyway affiliated with the High School Musical franchise and any of the companies I mention in this story. **

** Issues: Yours, Mines, Ours**

**Chapter 2: Just Some**

I gave the clock a quick glance only to realize that I only had half an hour before I had to go and meet Sharpay. The department store was only ten minutes away and what I needed were twenty minutes of me time. I pushed past the boxes and entered my bedroom which held my full sized bed, a bookshelf that only had enough books to fill up half of one of the eight rows, and my white desk that held my laptop and charger. The door next to the bathroom was my closet that contained what I thought were necessities. Everything else were in boxes or bubble wrapped cluttering and taking up space in my kitchen, hallway, and living room.

I hoped in the shower and sighed. The water tickled my tan skin and as I washed away the sweat and dirt, but I also scrubbed the stress and panic I have been experiencing for several days. I loved the idea of starting over at a new city and being reunited with my other half, but moving was tough. After a blissful ten minutes, I hopped out of the shower and grabbed the only towel that was available. I walked over to my closet and retrieved a pair of medium washed skinny jeans, a plain white v-neck, my favorite green military jacket, and my flat brown booties. I grabbed my purse where I had left it earlier and made my way to my car.

I start my residency at Righton Hospital in a week and a half and I have been busting my ass to make sure that everything at my new place was settled before I dove into fifteen hour shifts.

I found a parking space and started making my way to the entrance of the store. There was a sudden flash. I looked and I saw the paparazzi with a look of disappointment upon realizing who I was, a nobody. Sharpay told me last night, while we were unpacking...well while I was unpacking and she was sitting on my couch sipping wine, that the paparazzi loved hanging around certain stores and restaurants that celebrities loved to visit. I should have expected that the high-end department store would be one of those spots.

I whipped out my iPhone that had a small crack on the top left corner, which was the result of the alarm waking me up after a night of a fair amount of drinks. I scrolled through my "favorites" in my contact list and called Sharpay. After several rings she picked up her cell.

"Hey Pay, I'm at the first floor of the store. Where are you?"

"I'm at the eighth floor. Take one of the elevators up here." Her reply had a quiver to it that I identified as contained excitement. Whenever Sharpay got really hyped about something, but wanted to play it off like she was totally cool with the situation, her voice got higher and she spoke slower, enunciating after every syllable. I figured that the thrill of her designs being featured on display at one of the most known stores in the city was really setting in.

I pressed the elevator button and when the doors opened I was greeted by a girl who looked like she had just entered college and a man who could have been her father in terms of age. Her chest was thrusted up on his and his hand exploring her butt.

Upon realization of my presence, they inched away by well...an inch. His hand made its way up to her hip, but that looked to be the furthest they were willing to separate from each other. The elevator music made me chuckle, it was in fact a very awkward situation, more for me than them and for a moment I thought that the elevator had stopped moving. I classify myself to be fairly awkward person and I embrace that about myself and apparently my response to uncomfortable situations is a bizarre chuckle.

They exited the elevator on the fourth floor and I heard the fifty year old looking man tell her that she could pick out anything she wanted. I was just happy to be separated from the overly touchy couple and despite whatever their relationship was about it was simply none of my concern. I'm really good at that. I mind my own business and don't butt into the lives of people, especially of strangers. I'm no angel and sometimes I unconsciously judge, but I have learned that I do so a lot less frequently than a great amount of people. Keeping my nose where it belong is something I learned back in freshmen year. I learned not too pay too much attention to others.

As I got off the eighth floor, I found it empty of people. A woman came up to me in a well tailored black suit. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun and she had a sense of grace about her.

"Excuse me miss, I'm afraid that the eight floor is closed as of right now." She had a sweet smile and tone. I was about to open my mouth when Miranda, Sharpay's assistant interrupted.

"Oh no it's okay. This is Gabriella a consultant to Sharpay." Miss Victoria gave a small nod and continued to patrol around the elevator to kindly inform any other potential eighth floor visitors that it was closed at the moment.

"Hey...How's everything going?" I questioned.

"Oh my goodness, you will never guess what happened." I was slightly taken back by Miranda's excitement. She was a beautiful red head at her mid thirties and in the times I have seen her, she was always professional, so her current expression hit me like a truck.

"What?"

"Sharpay was working at the office that they assigned to her. She was finalizing one last order for the display, when Victoria Clark, the store manager came up to her. Victoria said that there was someone that wanted to meet her. She said that this mystery person came to Sharpay's first runway show and that he and his wife fell in love with her designs. When he heard from a friend's stylist that Sharpay was doing the window for this month, he knew that he just had to meet her."

I walked along side Miranda as she discussed the news with me. She always walked at a pace of someone who was late, but I figured that it made her a great assistant, especially with Sharpay who was at times hard to keep up with.

I was about to ask who this mystery man is, but when she suddenly stopped, I realized that we had reached the destination. We were in the middle of the eighth floor and Sharpay's name in lights were hanging from the ceiling, while her summertime clothes hanged on the racks and worn by the mannequins. She was facing me and I was faced by the mystery man's back.

"Gabriella," Sharpay said causing the man to turn to face me. There in front of me was a man in dark jeans that was neither lose or tight and a gray hoodie. However, it wasn't his casual clothing that I noticed first, it was his eyes. His blue eyes. However, it didn't lift me up, instead my body slumped just a little bit looking at the lack of luster and evident disparity that his eyes held.

"This is Troy Bolton," Sharpay introduced.

He held out his hand and I stepped closer to shake it. As our hands touched a warmth crept up on me. A bizarre comfort, you would get when sipping a hot chocolate in front of the fire, after someone decided to throw a bucket of ice water on you.

I smiled at him "Gabriella Montez. It's nice to meet you."

He smiled back at me, but that only made me lose the grin that covered my face. Suddenly I was no longer enjoying the taste on warm cocoa, I was drenched in ice cold water, wearing a bikini, on the coldest day of Chicago. His smile was one of lies. I didn't really know what he was lying about and while I typically didn't notice the way someones eyes look or the meaning behind anyones grin, chuckle, smile, or whatever you want to call it, I found myself paying some attention to his. Not a lot of care, not a even little of care, nor did I pay a lot of attention. It was just some. I was paying some attention to the hoodie wearing Troy Bolton.


End file.
